Draco Malfoy and the Old Wives' Tale
by TheBoy
Summary: Yeah, yeah, I know, kinda cliché…but it’s new to me. This is about Draco, concerning his life and his obsessive hate towards Potter. He took away his father, his friends, his position...even had him melted! How would you react? ...eventual DracoHarry
1. Author's Note

Note!  
I will not continue posting this story until I've written every chapter.  
I just feel that'd be more efficient - and that I don't get anyone into reading something that may never be finished.  
Still, I note this in the "second chapter" slot (sorry if this gets you misled - I'll see if i can post it first.  
I have already written two more chapters besides the first, though they have some revising that I'll do.  
Speaking of, when I actually start posting, I'll be posting like one every few days, and revising them as I go.

Still, warning: if there are only a few chapters up (like four max), then I haven't finished writing yet,  
and it could be forever before I post.

Thanks for your patience!

The Boy 


	2. Chapter 1

Legal Disclaimer: Technically, this is infringement...please forgive me Rowlings! Er, it's simply my love for the story that keeps these other possibilities in my mind, and I do it without the intent of copyrighting your characters or drawing any profit.

Content Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I know, kinda cliché…but it's new to me. This is about Draco, concerning his life and his obsessive hate towards Potter. Eventual Slash, so if you aren't into that ("that" referring to male-on-male sexual scenarios), please move on.

Also, the content includes swear words (though light swear words at the moment).

Note: This is my first fanfic ever. R/R, and please be gentle but honest. Er…thanks!

Look at him. Through the window on the door I can see him. Him and his disgusting friends – bloody hell, it's revolting! It's already going to be a long trip with nothing to do, and now I have to be reminded that _he'll_ be there at the end. In Hogwarts. Where he's bloody worshipped. I can't stand it!

I, Draco Malfoy, _hate_ Harry Potter.

I suppose I shouldn't dwell. But Crabbe, as much of a git as he is, has made things worse by not being here. As has Goyle.

Wait, where was I? Oh yes. I hate Harry Potter.

And oh, believe me, I understand the implications of that. For one, I'm actually admitting an importance in him – but this is no ordinary case. If I were, to say, hate Crabbe, I'd be saying that Crabbe has qualities that contend with mine – a laughable, highly improbable condition – and that these contending qualities are of his own origination. As for Potter, the qualities that contend with mine aren't his, but were given to him. You see the difference? From his popularity to his wealth to his power, everything was handed by one single mistake. The Dark Lord's mistake.

I suppose then, if those qualities were favorable qualities – Slytherin qualities, as it were – I would still despise him. However, all the best Slytherins despise, as they respect and even admire, their competitive peers. Potter, on the other hand, he's so clueless! He has no idea about power, about reality, about what really works in this world, and yet he's been able to rally up such support, to become a regular bloody international hero! And why is that? He's got a bloody scar!

Eventually, his luck will run out (I'm counting the days), but until then, I find myself worrying too much about his petty successes and gloating over his inevitable failures. But then everyone has a hobby.

This bloody train takes forever. I should be thinking about something else. Really, I should be walking around with Goyle and Crabbe, earning the respect as we always do. Or did, rather. And I could have simply replaced them I'm sure, but they were such good minions.

Damn Potter! He's affected my life since I started going to school! I don't even know what I'm going to do this year…

Here's the thing though ('cept I almost never let myself think about it, the irony involved and all). I remember that I was rather charmed by him in the beginning – which I'd never admit aloud. I think I could tell simply how influential he would be, even before I knew who he was. Criminy, you should have seen how ridiculous he looked in that muggle cloth, all looking three sizes too big for him, and with broken glasses as well, and yet I still got that feeling.

Must have been nausea (funny how much of a predictor nausea can be).

We were in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, that little shop in Diagon Ally. I was sitting on this rather stiff, pedestrian stool with a rather lumpy witch attending to my measurements, and this boy walks in, the most timid mouse you've ever seen – and as I've said, with clothes to swim in. Honestly, I thought it cute – how foolish I was then. He looked to be several years younger than he really was, and quite underweight – and his hair! It's like he had a streak of something wild in him. I remember having a strong suspicion that he was part vampire, simply because of his wild hair – but understand, I was a little kid then, and that's how vampires were depicted in kids' books. Anyway, I remember that his hair deeply contrasted with his personality, and that I was rather eager when I spoke – for some reason I was eager to make a future-Hogwarts association.

He came into view as the lump pulled the robe about me, beginning to pin me for measurements. "Hello," I had said. "Hogwarts, too?

"Yes," said Harry. His reply was just as timid as his stance.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," I said. As he didn't respond, I continued: "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

He didn't say anything, though this time I swear he looked a little repulsed. But I foolishly persisted. "Have you got your own broom?"

"No," he had replied monosyllabically.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry had said again – though mind you, I still didn't know who he was. I was, however, annoyed at his lack of participation. Little Potter had to be perfect, acting as if he were better than I even then. I figured, though, that I was perhaps judging him too harshly, and he did look timid.

Of course I realize now that this whole conversation was pathetic. To think, the first time I talked to Potter, I acted as if he could be a friend!

"Play Quidditch at all?" I again persisted.

"No," he replied 

"_I_ do – father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," he replied, once again.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" And I'll bite off my tongue, if I weren't giving him plenty of discourse markers!

"Mmm." Way to discourse.

"I say, look at that man!" He was standing there with ice-cream, looking rather silly despite his size.

"That's Hagrid," said Harry. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh, I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," said Harry. He seemed to be frowning.

"Yes, exactly," I had said, now remembering. "I heard he's a sort of savage – lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant." And the thing that gets me is that Potter still defends the brute. With all the dangerous creatures that the half-giant has sicked on us, Potter still believes that Hagrid is "brilliant"!

"_Do_ you?" I said. I thought Potter naïve to think this way. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," he'd replied.

"Oh, sorry." Then, as befitting a Malfoy, I asked: "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and a wizard, if that's what you mean."

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families." My father's words. "What's your surname, anyway?"

And I should explain that such questions were general procedure. Ask about the mudbloods, ask about lineage. But I couldn't get an answer, as Madam Malkin had finished. I gave my farewell: "Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose." I honestly had no idea what to make of it.

Odd that I remember it so well…

I'm now in the Hogwarts Express, in my own cabin, mulling in my own thoughts – sulking, even. This is a dangerous year, hence me sulking. Normally I have Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle to accompany, as dull as they are sometimes; they have the wits about them enough to do as I say, and often that returns the most pleasing results – but they were kicked out. Not enough O.W.L.S. Well, none, actually. Their mothers are trying to bribe the school board as I'm sitting, but they really don't have the power they used to, now that Mr. Crabbe and Goyle have been caught dealing with The Dark Lord, and are now in Azkaban.

And my father, thanks to Harry Potter, is _also_ in Azkaban! Does this not give me an excuse to hate Potter? And I _so _almost had him at the end of last year – trust me, I was definitely in the mood for murder that night. But his little gang stopped us with some bone-melting curses and the such. "Suck it up," my mother had said. Letting Potter get the best of me, that's no option. I had to wait out the curses and their painful side effects. I really wish I had got him.

But it gets worse. Because our families have been implicated, none of our old associates can be caught with us. Not even their children – my classmates. So if I had wanted to replace Crabbe and Goyle (which I have considered quite often), I wouldn't be able to. And also because of the association, I have lost my prefect status. Though that may have had to do with how I helped Umbridge, or how I took away points indiscriminately.

I'm starting to question my health, but I'm really obsessing over Potter, about the ways I'd string him up and torture him until the last breaths issued out of his mouth, a painful, blood-gurgling gasp. I'd humiliate him, strip him of his clothes, and then his flesh, then carefully chopping off small appendages while keeping him alive. And perhaps deprivation…but this is unhealthy. Yet what else do I have to do? In effect, Potter has alienated me from all but the Slytherins, except none dare get too close, and I hear that some of them are even sympathizing (with what, I ask!). In effect, he has taken my only friends, Crabbe and Goyle, useful in their brawns as well as their lack of brains, and has taken my family – and this he has done in the same fell swoop.

Oh blast it all. It's _them_ talking in the hallway.

"Harry, you've been in the hall the whole time? You should have gotten a seat," Granger's voice admonished.

"I was fine." His response seems cold.

"Well come on then, there's got to be a seat left." Weasley. No movement though, just a pause. I can't be sure...

"…is there." I can't hear it all, but it's Potter and he seems annoyed.

"Oh." Yes, Weasley would be much louder. "Oh! Haha! You mean he's got no one sitting with him? Stupid git!" Oh God they're probably looking in right now – but I refuse to check. "Well I guess if the two people stupid enough to hang around him dropped out, then he really has no choice, does he?" Bloody- he's actually going to use that, isn't he? It's not like I _need_ friends. I've never even asked for a friend. Well, except for onece.

The _first _time I'd been on this train, I'd heard that Harry Potter was as well, and lo-and-behold, it was the same boy I'd met at Malkin's shop.

"Is it true?" I had asked. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?" What my luck, I figured, to have already run into him.

"Yes," he replied. He was looking at Crabbe and Goyle though. With me from the beginning, they were.

But Potter looked intimidated. "Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," I explained lightly. "And my name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

And then Weasley…I hadn't even noticed he was there, but he made his miserable presence known with a cough. Or rather, a suppressed laugh. At _me!_ Oh, the gall! "Think my name's funny, do you?" I asked, figuring I'd get him back. "No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford." I hoped it stung, and indeed, he turned bright red.

Then I turned back to Potter, vaguely thinking how I may have made a tactical error. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort." Perhaps that'd cover it. Then I held out my hand in my one and only gesture of friendship. "I can help you there."

And he refused.Acting all high and mighty, he attested that "I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself." And I – I can't understand. I couldn't understand. I believe I insulted him, him and the Weasley's and Hagrid. I couldn't bear it. And when they tried to get us to leave, I refused. It was only the last bit with Weasley's rat that had us leaving.

Well needless to say, I hate Ron Weasley almost as much as I hate Harry Potter – but it's a different quality. Weasley didn't have everything handed to him in stupid act of fate. Weasley hadn't rejected my hand of friendship. And Weasley hasn't rid me of my family, friends, and status. And while there are plenty of people that I hate these days, it's Potter that-

They're opening the door. Weasley is greeting me with a snarl, though Granger keeps him from speaking. I missed the rest of their conversation, though probably it was just their apology to Potter for being in the prefect's meeting – Oh what good, slavish friends they are! Like a cult, worshipping a statue of a golden cow.

And they sit. That's it. Occasionally Weasley will give me a look that I'm sure he thinks is intimidating, and occasionally Granger will try to start a conversation with the other two – such as "oh we've missed the food cart, haven't we?" or "well I guess we better put our robes on" ( at which point they do – mine are already on). Potter says nothing at all, does nothing at all. Just sits there with his arms folded. So arrogant…like everything is beneath him!

And I realize that I've forgotten my witty remark. No matter. "Chin up, Potter. You look as though your dog died." Yeah, I've heard. I'm not supposed to, but I know everything that goes on with my father, and even though he never had a chance to get home, I know.

As does Weasley. Granger immediately restrains him through his cursing and his red face, and I have to stifle a laugh in favor of a smirk. So predictable.

Potter, on the other hand, is motionless. And I'm worried. "I wouldn't be so cocky," he says quietly, without even looking at me. "You seem to have lost your protection."

Wait, worried? I am _not_ worried. I'm bloody pissed! No need to wait; I'll punish him now – and I stand up with about a thousand hexes and such running through my head – and the train stops. Granger seems to be crying in her suppressed rage, and Weasely is equally rabid I'm sure (though I figured he wouldn't hurt Granger in struggling), but it's Potter's eerily calm look that just hits me before he gets up to go, it's his response that shocks me. As if he's giving me a warning in that look. Piss off or I'm dead.

And why am I shocked? He's tried to act brave before. There's no way he could have had to deal with what I've dealt with. And why did I get angry? I don't _get_ angry. I'm above anger.

Potter is long gone, and apparently Granger has been able to get Weasley situated, as they are leaving right now. But I haven't a clue what just happened. How could I lose control? I hate him. I _so hate_ him! And I will get my revenge. What have I to lose? Friends? Family? Status? Thanks to him I have nothing, and _he_ will pay!


	3. Chapter 2

I really don't need friends, I've learned. It is much more reliable, more safe, to trust only myself. Most every Slytherin is the same, really. When we ask something of each other, we understand fully that it is for what we can do for or to each other – which is why Goyle and Crabbe were so nice to have along. I gave them an order and a purpose while they assured me my power.

Which is what makes this year so difficult. As I had in the previous years, this year I walk out of the train with my head held high. I doubt a Slytherin would walk with me though, because they daren't publicly endorse what my family now represents.

When the Thestral-drawn carriages come, as I now know them to be, I suddenly wonder whom I should sit with. I've walked automatically up to where everyone else is, where Parkinson, Zabini, Greengrass, and Bulstrode are all entering a carriage – the only other Slytherins left of our year. They are pointedly ignoring me, and I don't dare even try to enter. Maybe they'll talk with me in the common room.

I nervously straighten my clothes and hair as I look around, still gritting my teeth. Potter, Granger, and Weasley already had their carriage, I see. What I don't see is the thestrals themselves, but I daren't think about them. Third-years have all boarded, Ravenclaws seem to all have found carriages, and slowly I see my options slip away. I see Abbot and some other Hufflepuff witches entering another carriage and I rush to that one. I figure the Hufflepuffs are too weak to do anything too nasty, and I don't look fully out of place.

Abbot gives me a startled look, not quite a glare, and Jones scooches a bit away from me as I sit down, but I mentally brush it off. "No need to stand on my account," I assure them. Bones seems to want to speak, but thinks better of it. No one responds, and the journey is painfully quiet.

I jump out as soon as the carriage stops, and I head for the dining hall. I don't like it though, having to do all this. Still, there's just a speech and a feast left, and then I can finally rest.

And then…tomorrow. But I'll work on that when it comes.

Speaking of problems, bloody hell! Where am I supposed to sit? Oh, no, okay, I just overreacted. Again, they aren't going to talk to me out here, as they'll be in disfavor even with some Slytherin professors, but it'll be fine if I sit down.

Still, it takes me a bit of self-convincing to sit where I always do.

Without being too obvious, I note that Pansy has her eyes narrowed, and several Slytherins are pointedly looking away.

"Students of Hogwarts, we have a new year before us," came Dumbledor's voice. "As well as new first years." But I'm looking over at Professor Snape, and it takes me a moment to realize why. I want to see at least one friendly face. Snape, friendly? But it's all I've got. Come on, snape. Notice me, please.

And then he does notice me, and he gives me the most contemptible glare. I feel…I can't take it. Suddenly my throat hurts and I can't swallow. Professor McGonagall is still calling off names, but it's harder to hear anything. My housemates are ignoring me, my parents hate me, my godfather now hates me, and everyone else…their faces spin about me, so I take a drink of water and take a deep breath.

Things don't seem to be spinning so much now, but everything does seem more gray. I don't know why I had been looking forward to school – now that I'm here, I just want to leave.

Can I? The first-years are now sorted – we've got six new Slytherins – and everyone's chowing down. The slobs. If I had an appetite, I'd lose it now, but at the moment their gluttony serves as a distraction.

I surreptitiously get up and leave the dining hall. I'm still trying to figure out where it is I want to go when I see Granger and Potter coming my way. Wait, what are they doing here for?

"What are you doing here for, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, mirroring my internal question. Potter seemed disinterested.

"Walking," I responded. I didn't want to have to deal with this. "Please don't interrupt, mudblood."

I try to step through, but Potter is in the way, and I don't even want to creep around him. It's not that he's angry; Hermione had put a hand back as if to stop Harry from retaliating, but he hadn't even blinked. And it creeped me out a bit. If I weren't so tired, I wouldn't let him get away with this.

"Malfoy," Potter finally responded, "your curse words only matter if we care about your opinion."

"Oh don't be too hard on him Harry," and now I was really worried, for she was looking at me with a look of vengeance. "Don't you see why he left the hall?"

"I'm tired of Dumbledor's rants," I replied. "Now get out of my way."

"But normally you chat with your friends, right? Make little Slytherin jokes."

This time I can't respond. Harry doesn't either, but he has the beginnings of a small, cold smile. Why am I still here? I couldn't follow what she was getting at. It's not like I needed to talk to the other slytherins. Or wanted to.

"That's right. Crabbe and Goyle. Your friends. And…Pansy? Zabini? Did you talk with them? Or anyone else? Any of those people that are still willing to talk to you?"

I can feel my teeth grit. "They'll talk to me! They're trying to give you the illusion of security!"

"Is that what they told you?" Potter asked. And now he was outright grinning. Damn him! This is all his fault anyway!

It's taking all my control to keep from hexing them, but I don't. Instead, I walk around them. "Granger, Potter! Watch your back!"

And then all I feel like doing is running to my room. The walk takes forever, and then I numbly put up a bunch of protection spells, while trying not to think about why. I keep punching the bed posts just to distract me, until I've finished the round of spells.

And then I slip into bed. And I can't sleep.

Potter. Granger and Potter, what were they doing in that hall, anyway? Probably making out. Just my luck to run into them.

I left because…because I couldn't handle Snapes' loathing. I had wanted more his regard than ever my father's, and he'd never actually disapproved of me. But my other friends, they'd still…I mean, they were my friends. Not friends the way Granger and Potter were. But they'd still talk to me.

Though I felt a knot tighten in my chest, and my throat felt even more sore. Would they still talk to me? I already knew the answer, and I couldn't swallow.

Granger was a bloody whore anyhow, but it was Potter's sneer that got to me. Granger wasn't important. It was Potter that everyone loved or hated. Potter that had gotten me in this position to begin with. I'd get him back. I will get him back.

In fact…I'll have to look in my chest.

I wasn't able to bring any inherently dark magic items, as Hogwarts has protections against them, but I had access to enough powerful items. The Hand of Glory, for example, would allow me to walk with a candles' light that no one else would be able to see. The Ring of Lies, on the other hand, vibrates when someone tries to deceive its wearer. And then, there is the Quaru Cube, which is an artifact that paralyzes as a defense measure. It's basically a trap, and it's made for manipulability, including in how the paralysis occurs. I should be able to have it quickly transport the victim to a discrete location…

I have a plan, now, and suddenly I feel much more ready to sleep. I can fix the details tomorrow; I will have my vengeance on Potter.


	4. Chapter 3

Oh…it can't be morning yet. I feel so groggy, so heavy. Why couldn't I just go back to sleep?

I used to be able to get up so early – even hours before the others. This summer was an exception. I was having a hard time so I let myself sleep in, despite the consequences. I had been hoping though that I'd get back to my routine as soon as I arrived at school.

Even more important, I had been hoping that I'd wake up in a better mood.

And now I notice why I woke up. The lights are on. Zabini must have turned them on, and I'm just thankful that the drapes about the four-poster kept away most of the light.

Unless I'm already late for class!

In moments I'm up, clothed, and looking desperately for my clock. Bloody house elves can't pack.

The metallic disc is under some of my dress robes and my school supplies, and it tells me I have twenty-five minutes. Thank the gods. I can get ready at a more leisurely pace, though I won't have time for breakfast.

Shirt.

Pants.

Robe. Tie. Shoes.

Then I wash up quickly, and pack my bags full of my books, scrolls, quills, and my Quaru Cube. I have yet to set it, but I'm out the door, just a little late for…oh, I haven't picked up my time-table. I am definitely not on top of things. I'm such an idiot. Hopefully tomorrow…

When I rush into the Great Hall to get my time-table, I'm aware of how I wouldn't have wanted to eat anyway. The reality of the situation slams into me at the same speed as that of the approaching vastness of the hall. Where would I sit? What if Granger was right?

No, no use. No time; Professor McGonagall, who is passing out the time-tables for the Gryffindors, is already preparing to leave. Professor Snape is already gone – which gives me conflicting feelings. I don't see any other heads of houses, though, so I hurry up to her without compromising my composure. I must still endure her patronizing frown.

"Mr. Malfoy, you're running late," she advises me, while standing up from the head table.

I have to stifle my sarcastic remark. "Yes, Professor McGonagall. So could you please hurry?" Well, I can't stifle the sarcasm fully.

Instead of responding, she simply snaps the schedule out for me, her frown deepening. I am assuming that they are the list of classes I can take.

And despite her impatience, I need a moment. The list seems overwhelming. I had talked with Professor Snape during the previous year about what I wanted to do after I graduated, but in truth I had no plan. What I did say was made-up, and we both knew it; I needed to pretend I wasn't stream-lined for the Dark Lord's ranks.

So now I must choose courses, without regard to my future. My supposed future. What would I do when I leave Hogwarts? Would I even leave when I've graduated, or would I be forced to leave? Or…forced to leave in a more terminal way?

"Mr. Malfoy, I have a class to instruct, if you don't mind." Her frown was just as deep as ever, but I was grateful for the distraction; I didn't like thinking about my future. I would just pick the courses that really interested me. I point out my courses for her and jot down my new schedule on a blank time-table; Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Divination, Potions, and Transfiguration.

"Diviniation?" McGonagall asked, finally losing her frown.

"Professor Snape suggested it." Then, before she could interject, I continued: "He's run it by the Headmaster, so that it's okay, even though I have no O.W.L. level for it." In fact, that was the one thing we really did do during our meeting during the previous year, was talk about how I should try adding Diviniation to my schedule. He was rather insistent, as he had been during my third year as well, though I had refused. I wasn't sure why I was adding it this time.

"Well everything is in order," McGonagall concluded, and then without so much as a good-bye, she left.

And I realize that we're some of the last ones to leave.

What's worse, my first class of the day is Potions, and I can't shake the feeling that Snape is really, really upset with me. It's the one class I should be early to, and instead, I'm running there with about two minutes before the second bell rings.

When I enter the room, I look desperately for an empty seat. There's one by Potter but…no! No, nothing is going right today! Snape is sneering at me when I finally see another spot in the back. I begin to hurry towards it when Snape speaks.

"Mr. Malfoy, that seat is broken." And when I turn around, the bell rings as if on cue. "We are waiting, Mr. Malfoy. You'll have to forgive us for not rolling out carpets like I'm sure you're used to." His sneer deepens as I make my way over to the seat next to Potter, keeping my composure as best as I can. Though the backwardness of this situation must have had Potter all giddy on the inside, he didn't show it.

"Oh, and Malfoy? That'll be thirty points from your house. Next time be on time," and though he usually smirked when he took points, he gives me the most hateful glare. What is it I did? I can't figure out why he hated me so much, and so suddenly. Aren't we on the same side?

Professor Snape lifts his gaze to the whole class now and begins his lecture. "I only accepted Outstanding students for my class. However, as I know how some of you have performed from previous years, I must assume that the O.W.L.s standards have lowered – this will NOT be true for the N.E.W.T.s, nor will it be for me! I will NOT be lenient." And here he pauses for dramatic effect, and then he glares over at me again.

This time I can't help but get angry. I didn't DO anything! I've always been his best student, and this is how he repays me?

Snape is still giving his "no-nonsense" speech. He looks somewhat repulsive with his oily black hair snapping about with his emphatic head movements. Still, it was always a comfort to have this class with him. He's my godfather. He's supposed to have my back. Why is he being such an arse?

I should ask.

I feel myself relax with the thought. Why not ask? There must be a misunderstanding. Yes, he can't appear to favor me, but the whole hatred was a little overboard.

I have to make myself pay attention to him again, and to figure out what he'd been saying before – the format of the class. Mondays we would have lectures and throughout the week we would be expected to study up on the lectures and prepare essays concerning potions we would be making. "And on Fridays we will practice making the same potions that you will most likely be asked to produce for your N.E.W.T.s practical exam."

I take notes with as much alacrity as I can muster, keeping the thought in my mind: I'll simply talk with Snape after class, in private, and then I'll have him back on my side. I'm sure of it.

And the whole time I take notes, my only distraction is Potter's noisy scrawls. It gives me pause to consider more my revenge – I do know of several rooms in the dungeon that could be useful…but no. Now my plot seems somewhat foolish. I know I'll have to do something eventually, but all I wanted to do now was…

Wait, I wanted to please Professor Snape? Was I really that desperate?

I feel my face grimace before I realize it; I don't really want to answer that question, I suppose.

Class is ending and the students are filing out, but I hold back, putting my stuff away slowly. Perhaps it'd be wiser to wait until his office hours? No, I can't wait that long. This has to be resolved now.

With the class now empty, excepting Severus and I, I hesitate just a second more before I go up to his desk and ask, "Professor, can we talk?"

His eyes darted to me, immediately acerbic. "I'd assume that was one of our functions as human beings, Malfoy, but if you are asking for a moment, then no." And he's already standing up to leave!

"Sir! Please!" I hope that isn't desperation in my voice. "Just tell me what I did. I understand that most of the Slytherins must put up an appearance, but you're…" my godfather, I wanted to finish. You're the one I wished was my real father, especially when Father would scold me, belittle me, beat me, and starve me.

He's still gathering his stuff but he looks back at me, and for a moment I'm hopeful. "No!" And its hard to even hear the rest. "You are nothing. Look around you Malfoy – everyone is affected by this war. Everyone is hurt by it – many killed, every day. You –" and then I notice him stop, and he seems to choose his words carefully. "You make a public move like yours, and you're worse than nothing. Worse than impotent. You're dead."

For a second, it seems like he's trying to tell me something. What public move is he talking about? My father's? But he's already stalking out the room. And something about the way that he ends the conversation lets me know that there'll be no following conversation.

And I'm not even sure why, but I do feel like worse than nothing. Suddenly, _this_ is what it means to be a Malfoy.

Damn Potter! Damn everyone! It all seems so…I can't help but hating everything! I want to… "FUCK!" And I scream. And I want to cry, and break things and shout some more. Everything is just so incomprehensible.

Though my vision is blurry, I notice that I'm clenching Snape's desk and before I can stop myself I heave at it, straining myself as I upturn it violently and send it crashing on its side.

Now I stop myself, smooth my robes, and leave the room with an outward appearance of calmness. I'm about ripping myself apart inside, but I'm able to think a few things. One, I don't know what I'm going to do. But two, I do know that the first thing I'll do is I'm going to kill Potter. And I will enjoy it.

I have a short break between Potions and Deviniation so I head off to one of the secret dungeon rooms I've found and begin setting up the Quaru Cube really quickly. Though really, that's not the hard part. In fact, none of the plan is difficult. Perhaps the hardest will be to get Potter to be appropriately suspicious enough to search my bag.

Oh! And now that I think of it, perhaps I can sensitize it to his signature. How old is Potter, anyway? I couldn't do it exactly but…

Shit! I'm out of time – I'll be late for Diviniation now. And I don't even know if Trelawney is the type to care or not. Perhaps I can finish my planning in her course?

"Move it!" "Out of my way." "Watch where I'm going." Its true; I can be an arse sometimes. But with little firsties, its so fun to get them scrambling out of the way or tripping them up. Besides, I'm in a hurry, and I have things to plan.

The stairs are long though, and as I get to the top, I instantly want to gag from the perfume. Why would Snape want me to take this class so bad? Tentatively, I push open the trap door that leads into the class, and once again I feel nauseous; instead of desks, chairs, and a chalkboard, Professor Trelawney has filled the room with frills, lace, and over-sized pillows, and all bright girly colors.

I can't help but wrinkle my nose in distaste.

It takes me a few more moments to realize that Professor Trelawney is waiting for me with exaggerated patience, not unlike how Snape would. However, she chose to ignore my grimace and snort as I made my way to the nearest open cushion, next to Daphne Greengrass.

Greengrass pushed her cushion away from me a bit, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

"I have the feeling that many of you will _truly_ come into your gifts this year," Trelawney exclaims, pausing a bit for effect. "A few of you will experience some life-changing events, and one of you will face your biggest enemy and most hidden secrets!" And as she says this, she gestures up and down and forward – oh she's terrible! Worse than Snape, much worse!

"The energies are cloudy today though – I can't quite figure out which one of you."

next – Trelawney's class – just a bit, and hint at his gift

then – lunch, and dinner, with estrangement, a "trio" confrontation, and

…Draco tries to invoke suspicion in Potter – prolly after he loses his cool and gets in a fight, he gets his wits back and clutches his bag to inspire suspicion


End file.
